


Five Times Tom and Carl Had An Inkling (And One Time They Inkled)

by oneatatime



Category: Young Wizards - Diane Duane
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 03:11:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13022031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneatatime/pseuds/oneatatime
Summary: First comes the house, then the children, then the love, right?





	Five Times Tom and Carl Had An Inkling (And One Time They Inkled)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marycontraire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marycontraire/gifts).



**1\. Tom**

"I had fish once," remarked the walking beard next to him. 

Tom jumped, and straightened up, nearly cracking his head on the giant inflatable Scooby Doo swinging from the ceiling. Well. Wouldn't've cracked it so much as boinged it, which in many ways would be far more embarrassing. There should be a limit on comedy 'boingoingoingoing' sounds once you pass eighteen, really. 

"I haven't had fish before," Tom admitted. "Did you like it?"

The guy grinned at him, and stuck his tongue out briefly at the little striped pink and blue fish darting about in the tank. "Went well with pineapple pesto, yeah." 

Tom laughed, surprised by the amiable wickedness in the other guy's dark twinkling eyes. He ignored the momentary impression of someone murmuring _Don't listen to him, he's all talk._ He wasn't good at hearing anything mind to mind, after all. Had to be his writer brain filling in the logical next line. 

"I was more considering getting a couple goldfish in a bowl than lunch. I could use something relaxing next to my typewriter that doesn't need a lot of care."

"Then you'll want a decent tank. Even if they backtalk you, you can't put a fish in a bowl. How big is your desk?"

The conversation dissolved into a chat about dimensions, and what Tom wrote (fiction, and spec scripts for TV) and what Carl did (sold commercial time for TV, and apparently fish tanks too, though he wasn't working on commission there). Before the harassed sales clerk disentangled herself from the mob of small children interested in the mob of small parrots and came over, Tom and Carl had learned each other's names and had decided to go for coffee to keep talking more.

Carl was _fascinating._

**2\. Carl.**

"How do you know?" Carl asked, reaching over to brush at Tom's hair. 

A crinkly golden-orange leaf was dislodged, and Tom nodded thanks at him. "About my hair?"

"About who you like. Women or men." 

Carl knew he'd failed in keeping the anger and regret out of his voice when Tom nudged him with a shoulder. They stopped, and Tom dragged him down to sit on the bench overlooking the pond. Ducks quacked cheerfully fifty feet or so away, on the other side. There was a small child with an older lady, who was also small. Mostly a bun with a red scarf wrapped around her. Tossing bits of bread into the water from a plastic bread packet. 

"You can like both," Tom said carefully. It was weird how this'd become their life. They could go from talking about the weather, to politics, to toe knuckle length, without turning a hair. He could ask Tom anything. "Whatever other people say. Or you can change your mind, when you find whatever new label fits you better. I think sometimes you just know."

Tom didn't ask, but it wasn't exactly hard to read the concern in his warm brown eyes. Carl sighed heavily. "Guy at work asked me out, and Mom saw. Fight went on maybe ten, twelve years. And I don't even know if I like him. He's okay, but maybe I just want to be friends." 

Anish wasn't like Tom, anyway. Tom's ability with words made it so much easier to be around him. 

The littlest duck's jaw unhinged, and it rose up out of the pond. Carl was on his feet and running before he'd even registered. Tom beside him, matching him step for step. Tom roared a shield spell at the same time as Carl activated his trinary defender, blasting the duck back, giving them a moment to just _look_ at each other.

Yeah. Sometimes you just knew. 

**3\. Tom.**

"So my mother just lets you in, now?" Tom enquired, grinning at his keys. He didn't even need to look around to know who was there. Didn't need wizardry, either. The fact that the tiny goldfish in the full size tank next to him were purring _Carl, Carl_ didn't hurt, exactly, but he didn't need it. 

"She needed the toilet plunged."

Carl didn't even sound upset. Tom turned with horror on his face. "And she called you?" 

Carl shook his head. "Apparently I'm family. Least some family wants me."

"... **Hey**. What happened? C'mere."

The worst of it was that Tom'd always liked Mrs Romeo, but then, wasn't that always the way. The people who did mean things, cruel things, unthinking things, could just as easily be those who you thought were nice. He knew entropy was bad and he should try to see the good in everyone where possible.

Sometimes it wasn't possible.

He held onto Carl through the not-quite-crying, and through the actual crying, and then when he ducked out to find some food he found that his mom had left a tray by the door. Along with an extra pillow, and blanket.

"I think you're staying the night."

**4\. Carl.**

"It just makes sense, okay? Then we can keep working together and we can share expenses and -"

Tom pointed at the real estate listings. Four were circled. "And we can get fish and a couple dogs. I know. And look at becoming proper seniors."

Another whisper-shouted blammo in the backyard from someone popping in. Tom's mother was broadly aware that they counselled people, but somehow the two of them could not convince the kids in particular to just come via the front door. 

Carl grinned. "You're way ahead of me. You can handle this one, then. Looks like Alaria again. I'll get the soda - she never realises when she needs caffeine."

 

**5\. Tom.**

It was late, and nothing in particular was happening. It was just freezing inside. 

Carl plopped down on the sofa next to Tom, who made a generic grunting exhausted noise. The sofa was an appalling floral mess, a handmedown from Tom's aunt. But it was comfortable, and it was always so happy to serve them. Carl grinned at him. The grin changed into a more pained expression, the corners of the mouth turning down into the beard, the eyes going wide, as Tom hoisted his cold feet up and plonked them against Carl's thigh. 

He just shook his head, grabbed Tom's ankles, and dragged him a little closer, though. A longsuffering expression on his face. Gentle care in his mind. _You're freezing._

"I know," Tom said, yawning. He took another sip of his beer, gently warmed not just by Carl's thigh but also by Carl. Was this... 

Yeah. Maybe he had an inkling.

 

**+1 Tom and Carl**

"You're not a kid any more and you shouldn't go thirty-eight hours without sleep unless someone's on fire or the world's about to end, you dumbass. Let me help!"

“You've had your own crap to deal with and I always do dumbass things for people I love!” Tom snapped at him. 

“I love you too, but stop overworking yourself just because you're trying to protect me. You knew about my crap. I should've known about yours,” Carl said meaningfully. He switched to the Speech again, and started murmuring encouragement to the disposal.

“You love me?”

“Course I do. I love anyone who’s dumb enough to stick around for this long. You, Annie, Ahmed, my fish – did I tell you the clownfish are experimenting with socialism now? - Steve at the corner store who keeps ordering that godawful beer you like, your mom is awesome. Lots of people.“

Tom swallowed, then swallowed a yawn, which was annoying as hell because he didn't want to prove Carl right about him being overtired. The fact that Carl WAS right, and he should've called him for help with the North Sea intervention, was completely immaterial.

That was a big out that Carl was offering, but it wasn’t okay. Not at all. There was a time for being a huge wimp and then there was a time for fighting entropy, telling the truth, being brave. What being a wizard was about. Which he’d once thought meant that you always have to put wizardry ahead of everything else, but he now suspected meant that sometimes you got to be a wizard _and_ be happy. Freaky.

He tried again. “But I _love_ you.”

Affectionate impatience. “Yeah, that’s what I-“

There was a thump from under the sink, a muffled yelp, and then Carl’s wide-eyed head emerged. Along with the rest of him, which was good, because Tom really wasn’t entirely comfortable with body separation wizardries. After a moment of staring up at Tom, he rubbed his head furiously, yelped again, put down the spanner and tried rubbing his head with his hand instead. He was on his ass on their ratty lino, wet and mucky from a sleepless day/night spent holding timegates open and then trying to fix the recalcitrant garbage disposal. Sleeves rolled up unevenly. What looked like a pasta sauce stain on the front of his overalls but was probably a bloodstain from a Raktoth, one sneaker missing for who knew what reason. Equally likely to be because he got caught in the mud on the way here as because he got it caught in a universal plumbing issue on Melias Seven. 

He was gorgeous. 

_Huh._

"Don't you 'huh' me!"

Carl clambered to his feet, leaning heavily on the sink, staring at Tom. "I guess now is the time when I'm supposed to kiss you?" he enquired, and Tom wasn't sure if the dazedness was only in his voice or only in his mind, but all he knew was that this man standing in front of him was incredibly, incredibly dear to him. 

_Preferably before the next crisis,_ Tom agreed, stepping into Carl. He cupped Carl's whiskery face and got in first. 

_Typical. Always have to have the last word-_

Tom cut him off by doing something experimental with his tongue.


End file.
